


sentimental boy is my nom de plume

by smallredboy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Actor!Wilson, Alternate Professions, Alternate Universe, Awkward Dates, CEO!House, Childhood Trauma, Class Differences, Developing Relationship, Dinner, Dysfunctional Relationships, Hopeful Ending, Lampshade Hanging, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Older Man/Younger Man, Open Marriage, Poolboy!Chase, Pre-Poly, Press and Tabloids, Referenced Homo/Transphobia, Trans Robert Chase
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:00:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27198866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Chase works as the pool cleaner at the House-Wilson estate, and it's only a matter of time before the ticking time bomb of the poolboy trope catches up to him and his employers.
Relationships: Greg House/James Wilson, Robert Chase/Greg House, Robert Chase/Greg House/James Wilson, Robert Chase/James Wilson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43
Collections: Gen Prompt Bingo Round 18





	sentimental boy is my nom de plume

**Author's Note:**

> **gen prompt bingo:** the mansion
> 
> uh. ive no excuses for this. don't examine it too closely, i'm just gay and stupid and i love this cheesy fucking trope.
> 
> enjoy!

All things considered, being the pool cleaner of the House-Wilson estate isn't all that bad.

The pay was decent, maybe even a little high for this kind of work, and he had met the other workers at their almost-mansion. It wasn't as big and ostentatious as to warrant that title, but it was almost to that point. He'd met Foreman, the gardener; Cameron, the main chef; and Thirteen, one of the domestic laborers. They are all nice, honest people, just working their hardest to go through the day, marveling at the estate's luxury. Most of them were live-in, which was a perk, although there was a clear divide amongst them and the actual owners of the place.

It's not lost in him that being the _pool boy_ is a concept that's filled with the idea of hooking up with the rich guy's wife. Which is funny, considering there's no wife in this situation. If they'd guess who he'd hook up with, though, it'd probably go straight to Wilson— it's not like he's ugly or anything, of course not, but he's simply not his taste. He's an actor, mostly on Broadway (although he's had his fair share of movie experience), a happy-go-lucky type of guy, who greets him every time he sees him with a warm smile, tells him he hopes everything's aright with the job and to tell him if it isn't.

He's too _nice_.

So, of course, Chase is much more interested in his husband, House.

He's a bit _known_ for being a prick. He's the CEO of a technology corporation, which would make him immediately insufferable, even without his unsavory personality added to the mix. Chase has no idea how he made it through the corporate ladder when so much of it involves ass-kissing. It's a mystery he doesn't want to delve upon, feeling like he'll come across an unsolved murder. But matter of fact is that House is, sometimes, nice— Thirteen tells him about catching glimpses of House and Wilson cuddling on the couch, laughing as they watch trashy reality TV. And he's also the one managing the salary of all their workers, and they seem to be overpaid, so that's a point in his favor. The other point in his favor is, of course, that he's hot. It's something about the ice blue eyes and the three day beard, that fabricated messiness of his wear, knowing that he has a full closet of things better than a ratty button-up and a leather jacket.

Chase is waiting for something to snap, waiting for the inevitable. One of them is going to proposition him, one day, because that's how it goes if you're a pool boy. The stories are usually not of a married gay couple, but he knows how they go, he just has to switch the pronouns around a tad.

It takes until the heat of summer hits them full force for House to actually make a move. 

He limps into Chase's vicinity; Chase is wearing his "work uniform", by which he means a tank top and swimming trunks. House is wearing shorts; Chase doesn't look at the big, ugly scar on his leg too much. It's rude to stare.

"Finally coming in for a swim?" he drawls.

"Sure," House says. "Can't really swim with my leg, but I do like floating. Hurts less."

He nods. "Of course," he says. "I've kept it in pristine condition for you."

House looks at the pool approvingly before taking off his short-sleeved shirt. Chase, now, openly stares at him, at his slight stomach and his body hair, gray-black as it goes over, getting thicker at his chest. He looks damn good, he can't deny that. He's always had a thing for older men, and, well, for his employer to be graying... 

"You have," House says, snapping him out of his trance, and dips his feet into the water, slowly starting to get in. He lets out a sigh of relief. "God, I missed going into water."

"It's been here this whole time," he says.

"I've been busy," he shoots back.

In another job, he'd probably be nervous about bantering with his employer. But right now, he's having the time of his life.

"Sure," Chase says.

House hums. "Won't you get in the pool?"

He gives him a shrug. "Dunno, I think there's an entire thing in my contract about not using the pool."

"Oh, you're the pool boy," he says, and the way he looks at him is nothing short of ogling. It makes Chase feel warm inside, like he's just ate something spicy. "Of course you can use the pool."

"Didn't you write the contract?" Chase says, pulling off his tank top and getting into the water, doing lazy laps around it. 

"Nah, James did." He huffs. "Probably didn't want me to see you shirtless or anything."

Chase blushes, then, as much as he tries to keep himself calm and collected. "He didn't?"

"I mean, we're open," he says. "But we're much more keen on teasing each other with hot people than anything else. He'd definitely let me hit with you, though."

His blush deepens at that. "Would he?"

"Yep." He shrugs, leaning against one of the ends of the pool, floating a little with ease. "We have to fill our _typical rich people things_ quota, and _affair with the pool boy_ is there."

Chase laughs. "D'you got an entire list of typical rich people things to do one day?"

"Yes," he says. "I'd say golfing is in there, but..." The sentence hangs in the air; everyone who knew about House knew about how he got his infarction while golfing, that the doctors misdiagnosed him until it was far too late to do anything but remove the dead muscle.

He huffs. "Of course," he says. "Well, you can always cross affair with the pool boy off."

"I'd have to kiss you first, before I can really count it."

Chase considers this and swims closer to him. "Is that the threshold for affair?"

House shrugs. "I mean, we could go all the way first, but." He cocks his head. "I'm sure you're rather impatient about getting the title."

"Of what, your dirty little secret?" he shoots back. "You're _open_ , it's not really a secret."

He finally grabs him by the chin, pulls him closer— Chase gasps in surprise, looks up at him. "I like to pretend," he says before pulling him into a kiss.

Chase whines out and kisses back, hands on both sides of House's neck as he gets closer to him, until they're almost pressed against each other in the water. Their movements are fluid and slow, taking their sweet time as House makes out with him. There's a certain hunger to him, with the way he nibbles along his lower lip, teeth clashing against his own.

When he pulls away, he gasps for air, clinging onto House desperately.

He smiles at him, smug as ever. "Since when were you waiting for me to do that?"

"Ugh," he mutters, "since you hired me."

"Of course." House pulls his hand over to Chase's long hair, threading his fingers along it, tugging lightly. Chase lets out an undignified squeak. "Got a thing for older men or something?"

"House—"

"I'll take that as a yes," he says, pulling him into another kiss." He pauses for a second. "After I'm done soaking, you mind coming to my bedroom? Consider your job hours done with."

"Will I still get paid?" Chase jokes.

"Sure," he says, poking him on the ribs, making him laugh. "You've got paid leave, whenever you want. As long as it's in my bed, of course."

Chase chuckles and nods.

The rest of the day is, above all, very good. Wilson comes into their bedroom halfway through their third time having sex that afternoon, Chase pressed face-first onto the bed. All it got out of him was a surprised squeak, and him congratulating House before quickly leaving. And that was that.

" _God_ ," Chase says, curling up on the bed. "Do I have to go so Wilson doesn't sleep on the couch? Your bed is so _comfortable_."

"You can sleep here," House says. "He doesn't mind the couch. It's not as bad as you think it is."

"I mean, yeah, I'm used to couches that aren't like, velvet worth thousands of dollars, or whatever," he mumbles into the pillow, getting comfortable.

House laughs and puts a warm, calloused hand on his back, massaging him slightly. "Sure," he says. "Not like your dad's a renowned rheumatologist or whatever."

Chase nearly shoots straight up at that, turning around to look at him. "Jesus Christ, did you put a PI on me?"

He rolls his eyes in response. "No. I just did a little research of my own. There's only so many Robert Chases of Australian origin. I traced back the steps quickly enough."

Chase nearly expects him to start throwing him the big, hard-hitting questions. _What did your mother die of? Why did you drop out of pre-med? How on Earth did you end up applying at being a pool cleaner when you were born to Rowan Chase?_ He expects him to run him off with those questions, with his answers. He expects to tell him that his mother was an alcoholic who died of cirrhosis and that he dropped out of pre-med because of untreated ADHD and PTSD. He expects House to look at him with a degree of pity on his face.

Instead, House doesn't say anything. Only offers him space to react.

"Oh...kay," he says slowly. "Do you do that with all the people who work at your place, or just the ones you want to bang?"

He shrugs. "I also have some dirt on Hadley and Foreman. I'm pretty sure you guys all know each other?"

"Yep," Chase agrees. "We do. We talk a bit."

"Good to hear you've got friends in this place," he says. There's a long pause after that, and Chase gets comfortable on the bed now that he knows the threat of House asking him about his life before coming to the States seems to be gone. "You wanna go out for dinner sometime?"

"Don't you got paparazzi?" he asks, muffled slightly by the pillow.

He can hear the grin in House's voice as he says, "Doesn't that make it more fun?"

"Are you orchestrating a cheating scandal that isn't actually happening?"

"I mean, I wouldn't mind if the tabloids got a hold of us, but if they don't I also don't really care. I like to stir the pot once in a while, and it'd certainly help James' career. Who doesn't like a bit of drama?"

"I mean," Chase starts. He sighs. "You know what, forget it."

Wilson is just slightly younger than House— eight years, if he remembers correctly— but he remembers when they got married, how it was an entire _thing_ that he may just be House's trophy husband. And also homophobic shit about theater and House's corporation losing stocks because he's bisexual, but hey, the fun part is the fun part. 

"So, is that a no on dinner?" House says.

He considers it. He does like the idea of being _the_ pool boy, a walking archetype. It'd be fun.

"Nah," he says. "I'd love dinner. Don't know any rich people restaurants, though."

"Don't worry," House says. "I'll find one that'll cater to your tastes. A seafood one, probably. Australia and whatnot."

Chase laughs at that. "Sure," he says. "Night, House."

"Night."

He falls asleep and stirs awake by the sound of furious whispering.

"The couch?" Wilson hisses.

Chase snaps one eye open, and listens, staying very still.

"Unless you'd like to share the bed with Chase," House offers.

Wilson sighs. "I don't— look, I'm your _husband_ , you can't just throw me off to the couch on a whim after you fucked the pool boy!"

"I can, I will, I did," House replies. He looks over at Chase; he can feel his gaze on him. "He knows we're not a perfect couple by now, anyway."

"What?"

"He's awake."

Chase stirs up at that, groaning. "You can just throw me to the couch, House, you don't have to argue with your husband about it."

Wilson offers him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry you woke up to us arguing, it was rather dumb—"

"I'd like the couch, anyway," he interrupts him. "It's like, some sort of expensive one, velvet or something, isn't it? I can sleep in it just fine."

Wilson looks at him, surprised, and House shrugs in response. "We can just sleep in the same bed, you don't have to..."

"I thought you didn't like that idea, based on your argument," Chase says, standing up and going over to put boxers on, at the very least. Wilson stares at him for a second, and God, both these men are attracted to him, or so it seems by how he stares at him, his lanky frame and top surgery scars along his chest.

"I mean, I barely know you," Wilson says. "So I just thought..."

He shrugs. "It's okay, Wilson. I'm not taking offense to all that. I'll just go sleep in the couch."

As he gets comfortable on the couch, with a blanket he stole from their bedroom, he can't help but go over what he learned. Of course, what couple is happy? What married couple has reached that level of comfort in one another's presence, to not mind whenever they do anything? Happy couples probably don't exist. He wouldn't know, having never been in a long-term relationship; as he nears thirty, all he's had is messy four month long relationships, pre-med hookups and struggling to find his place in gay bars. Relationships just _aren't_ for him, or maybe he's too traumatized to really try to make them work. They require effort, and whether House and Wilson have given themselves the effort they require, he doesn't know.

Rich couples have a tendency to be unhappy, anyway. He'd know that, staring at his mother and his father, a clean happy figure for the first few years of his life, before it all throttled downhill.

He sighs, curls up onto the blanket. The couch _is_ awfully comfortable, deep velvet, his hand diving into it with no problem at all. It's not stiff, not uncomfortable. After crashing in his best friend's couch post his dad finding out about him dropping out of college, this is like a pipe dream of couches. Something that shouldn't exist, and yet it does. Too comfortable to be true to the sleeping on a couch experience.

He falls asleep, eventually. It's not hard.

* * *

Several weeks later, House's schedule opens up for the dinner he had been promised. House has a normal car for appearing normal— a Corvette— and he smiles at him as he allows him to get on the co-driver's seat.

"Where are we going, then?" Chase asks, looking around as House starts driving.

"Oh, a nice seafood place," he says. "I've never been before, but James _swears_ by it."

Chase snorts. "Oh, does he?"

"Yep." He hums. "He really doesn't care about kosher. He gulps down shellfish like it's no one's business."

He laughs at that. "Well, it's about the small pleasures in life." During the weeks through, he's had intermittent sex with House, and talked with Wilson a bit, getting closer to both sides of the marriage. They're clearly highly dysfunctional, if their arguments and conversations and comments about each other are any indication. But he's not there to fix their marriage, he's just there to clean their pool and have fun.

"You think there's gonna be paparazzi?" Chase asks as he gets out of the car.

"There's usually at least a few in restaurants frequented by celebrities and such," he says. "I chose a busy day, though, so we wouldn't be noticed." A pause. "They probably still will, though, I have to say. They're very good at it."

Dinner is okay. They talk about various topics, and the abyss between their life experiences keeps growing bigger and bigger— sure, Chase grew up in a well-off family, but there's a difference between that and whatever the hell that quasi-mansion of House's is. About the mansion; he's gotten to know it better, exploring the halls, every corner, waving to Cameron when he sees her in the corner of his eye.

There's no cameras flashing; people use silent ones, that won't make everyone notice what they're doing nowadays. Still, the anxiety that the tabloids will get ahold of this and make a show of it plagues him, as much as the attention he'd get from it is quite interesting. He enjoys the idea, of being thought of as House's dirty little secret— _the_ pool boy, a living archetype. It'd be fun. 

He just hopes they don't identify him. It's not like he's a famous guy or anything. But if they do, they'll be able to dig deep and realize that House is sleeping with a trans man. And, then, well. Then things get quite nasty for them.

"Do you think they'd be able to identify me?" Chase asks as he gets in the car. "If paparazzi _were_ there, I mean."

House hums lowly, thinks it over as he starts the engine. "It isn't likely," he says. "You're not a public figure, and I try to keep my employees as private as possible. I understand people who work in celebrities' estates tend to be harassed, so I try my best to make sure that doesn't happen."

Chase bites his tongue on making a joke about how with all this _ethicality_ he should try to raise his corporate low-wage workers' salary.

"So..." House sighs and starts driving back to his place. "I do not think they'd be able to, but tabloid journalist and paparazzi are _very_ good at digging, so I wouldn't be surprised if they do manage to find something with you in it."

"Well," he says, and then coughs. "I should get mentally prepared for transphobic harassment, then."

House nearly slams the brakes. "Oh, right. Fuck. I didn't think about that. I was just thinking about how it'd be fun to make the media have a completely wrong idea of what was happening and—"

"And you forgot transphobia exists," Chase finishes for him. He sighs. "It's okay. I did say yes to your invitation. Don't worry about it."

"Oh, I will," he says. "Trust me, I'll bring Hell on Earth when people start saying shit toward you. I shouldn't have invited you out."

"Perhaps. But... it already happened. So if there's no paparazzi, we're fine. And even if there _is_ paparazzi, they may not be able to identify me, so they won't know. It's okay, really."

"I can help you seal your records," House offers. "I'll do my best to delete every mention of you being trans off the web."

He says this as he starts to park, and Chase's eyes widen before pulling him into an eager, messy kiss. House gasps into his mouth and nearly swerves off, but manages to park successfully as Chase makes out with him. Once he pulls back, they're both grinning from ear to ear.

"Thank you," Chase says.

"Of course," House says. "I'll arrange that. You can count on me."

That night, House and Chase have lazy sex on the guest bedroom, allowing Wilson to sleep on their actual bed.

* * *

The day afterward, House avoids work with the purpose of helping Chase seal out every mention of him being trans.

It's weird, Chase thinks as he goes through records, paying various legal fees so as to hide it to their best ability. It's weird to suddenly go stealth. He's not quite used to it, having always been semi-open about being trans, even if it cost him jobs or friendships or relationships. It's been worth it, though. But now his safety is in the line, so he guesses he has to be safe about it.

House squeezes his hip comfortingly. "I'm sorry I may have put you up for transphobic shit accidentally," he says. "I didn't really think about it until you brought it up.

"'s alright," he says. It isn't, really, but House worked quick to amend the mistake, and now everything is alright, so he doesn't really mind. As long as the digging the media does isn't extremely deep, he shouldn't be found out. He's just a cis guy more, a gay cis guy, sleeping with a famous married man while being his pool boy. It's taken out of some cheesy Amazon book, never really hitting the shelves on behalf of it being mostly gay porn.

"It wasn't," House insists softly. "But I fixed it. So I guess it's alright now." A pause. "You want to go eat dinner? I'm sure you gotta talk about these developments with our chef."

Chase breaks into a smile at that. "Yeah," he says. "I like Cameron. She's fun."

They head over to the kitchen and House asks Cameron to prepare something Chase doesn't quite get the name of before he leaves, leaving him and Cameron alone with each other.

"Hey," Cameron says as she goes to gather the ingredients.

"Hi. How are you?"

"Quite good. You going out with House? You told me you two fucked, but—"

"Oh, we went out on dinner," he says.

Cameron's eyes widen. "What? You're fucking with me."

"We went out on dinner!" he repeats, giddy. "We went to, uh, Robin's Seafood Palace. The _plan_ was for paparazzi to see us, but then I realized how much transphobic shit I'd get thrown my way if they identified me, and House offered to seal my records. And we're doing that now."

"God, he's whipped," Cameron says, laughing. "Are you guys planning on anything serious, or?"

"Um." He blushes at that, he can't help it— the mere idea of a serious relationship feels ridiculous, but at the same time not exactly unwelcome. Like an ill-fitting sweater someone made with affection, so it's the intention that counts, or something. He's always considered himself too _bad_ at relationships, though, and he can almost see House outing him after their relationship takes a sour turn. Because it would, eventually. "Uh. I don't know. I never really considered that option."

"They're polyamorous, right?" she asks, starting to chop some vegetables. 

"They're in an open marriage," he fills in. "I don't know if they're into the romantic side of that."

She shrugs. "You can only find that out by asking."

"Yeah," he agrees.

The idea is kind of funny to him. Like, dating famous CEO Greg House while working as his pool boy. As always, it's out of some bad romance book. He wants to believe it could be possible, and that he could figure it out, but he doesn't know if that's possible. House and Wilson are dysfunctional enough as it is, he doesn't have to add himself to that mess, right? 

* * *

"There we go," Wilson starts as he comes in for dinner, a magazine in his hand as he throws it for House to catch; he does. "It only took a week."

Chase leans over to read the headline, but it doesn't take long to figure it out, when the first picture is him and House, during their dinner, sharing a plate of lobster with dumb smiles on their faces.

**CEO GREG HOUSE CHEATING ON HIS TROPHY HUSBAND**

Chase wants to laugh hysterically. The perfect dinner Cameron cooked is put on the back of their minds, still eating as House reads the article on page six. Something ridiculous about the sighting of House with an unknown young man at Robin's Seafood Palace, and the theory that James Wilson, acclaimed Broadway actor, only married him for the status that would give both of them and the media attention that would come from such a sham marriage. And of course, this all comes down to them cheating on each other; _one would've expected for the trophy husband to be the one cheating_ , a part of the article writes, _but so far it only seems like Gregory House is the one doing the cheating._

Chase snorts and finishes eating, putting his plate aside. "This is... a lot."

"Yeah," Wilson agrees, taking a long sip of wine. "Maybe to stir the pot further I should go out to dinner with someone. I don't know who, though."

"You could go out with me, too," Chase offers, smiling. 

Wilson nearly chokes on his own breath. "I could do what?"

Chase laughs. "Wouldn't it be fun? The two of you sleeping with the same guy, with your _pool boy_." When Wilson doesn't seem to budge, he goes full on pouting, tilting his head at him. "Come on," he says. "It'd be fun. Taken out of a really bad, gay soap opera."

Wilson sighs. "I guess it can't hurt." 

"And," House intercepts, "if it leads into something else, we can finally share the bed like we're meant to."

Chase snorts at that. "Sure."

He does enjoy Wilson's presence, as much as he thought he wasn't his type. He's fun and way too kind, the way he looks at House so brimming with love it makes him a bit overwhelmed. Like, how on Earth are they so in love? They look mismatched, at first sight, grouchy CEO and happy-go-lucky Broadway actor, but they mesh well together, like they were always meant to be there, next to each other.

He's not really into Wilson, but maybe he's got another side to him. Something more than nice little Broadway actor, always playing the gay character in the play.

Two weeks later, their schedules line up and Chase ends up at the every same restaurant he went with House to with Wilson. It's nice, and the food is superb, so he's not mad about it at all— besides, the paparazzi must be there somewhere, lurking in the shadows, expecting Greg House and his boy toy to appear any time now.

"So," Wilson starts after the waitress takes their orders. Wilson asks for salmon, while Chase goes straight for the lobster bisque. "How's it going? You haven't been identified by the tabloids yet, right?"

"Nope," he says, grinning. "I've gotten messaged by some of my friends who do look through tabloid magazines, having recognized me, but of course they're not tattling. They get that if they know about me being, you know." He waves a hand around, like he's paranoid someone's listening. Someone may as well be. "It'd get pretty ugly."

"Yeah," Wilson agrees. "It would." He hums. "So, you're happy fooling around with my husband?"

Chase laughs. "Yes," he says earnestly. "He's quite fun. I'm really happy you guys hired me and that he finally decided to hit on me. Like _Jesus_ Christ I thought that would just never happen, and my fantasies of filling am archetype in a bad romance movie would just never be fulfilled."

Wilson snorts and chuckles. His laugh is cute, makes him laugh as well. "Yeah, we always talked about you from time to time. Like hey, how's the pool boy doing? Wearing those scandalously tight shorts as always?"

"I don't—!"

Wilson cuts his protest short, "Yes, you do."

He groans and pouts at him. "Okay. Fine. I do."

"Did you think that'd, what, bait us into hooking up with you?"

He gives him a coquettish tilt of the head. "Well, it seems to have worked."

Wilson rolls his eyes. "It sure has," he replies. "Well. Anyway..." He scrambles to think about what to say, to fill the silence, and then the waitress comes back with their dishes. He beams and nods. "Hi, thank you so much," he says as he takes it.

Chase is suddenly struck by the fact he didn't quite check how much House tipped. Like, sure, he's rich, he probably did the usual fifteen percent, but he could easily just give the price of the meal back to the waitress. As much as it's a deluxe restaurant, the wait staff are probably still underpaid. They always are.

"Thank you," Chase says as well, taking in his plate an immediately diving in. He pauses for a second. "How much do you tip?" he asks. It sounds rude, and he clears his throat. "I just, don't know, I was thinking about how the waitstaff are probably still underpaid, even if they're from this really well known restaurant, and—"

"No, I understand," he says. "People are really weird about tips. I try to tip at least fifty percent if I have it on cash."

"Why not just write it down with the rest, with a card?" Chase asks. He knows, of course, that a lot of establishments take the tip written down— he's gotten stolen out of like that back when he worked as a waiter during pre-med, before he dropped out.

"I've heard sometimes they don't give it to the waitstaff if it's with the check," he says. "So I try to make sure it gets to them."

Chase can't help it, really. As soon as Wilson says that he stands up from his seat and pulls him over by his tie, gaining an undignified squeak as he plants a kiss on his lips. Wilson's eyes widen and he looks at him for a second, before kissing him again.

"That was unexpected," Wilson says, voice airy and quite shaky at parts. "I don't— why did you—"

Chase laughs softly. "I just, I don't know. You were very understanding and seemed to know your shit about tipping and, I don't know. That's really attractive on a rich guy. Most of you all would tip one percent if you could."

He snorts. "Yeah," he says. "I guess some of us would." 

He almost hopes a paparazzi got a picture of them kissing. That'd be fun; that'd be nice, that'd be snazzy. He can't wait to get those messages from his friends— you're screwing the other half of that marriage, too?! He's not even screwing Wilson. At least not yet.

After they go back home, House is waiting in the living room, looking quite curious as Wilson has a hand on Chase's hip.

"So, anything spicy happened while you two were gone?" he asks.

"I kissed James because he understood tipping and that he should do it in cash whenever possible," Chase replies.

"Attracted to ethics, now, are you?" he throws back.

Wilson stammers. "Greg—"

"If I was attracted to ethics I wouldn't be sleeping with you," he replies.

House rolls his eyes. "I'm not a rich bastard CEO abusing the poor."

"Sure you're not," he says. He leans up to kiss Wilson again. "If you're up for it, we can just relegate him to the couch, I think that'd be—"

Wilson interrupts him, "I'm not making him sleep in the couch. He has a leg injury!"

Chase huffs and shrugs. "Well, we can have a threesome then."

Wilson looks scandalized at this, blush seeping into his cheeks. 

"I'm down," House immediately says.

"I— well—" Wilson stammers.

"Come on, James," Chase says. "You like me, House likes me, you like each other. What could go wrong?"

Wilson sighs and nods, pulling him into another kiss. "Fine. I guess it can't be that bad."

"Guess it can't," House says, standing up and limping toward them, giving each of them a kiss.

Yeah, tonight is going to be fun.

* * *

Three days later, the news hit social media, as Chase quickly finds out by looking at his Twitter.

**_GREG HOUSE AND JAMES WILSON CHEATING ON EACH OTHER WITH THE SAME MAN?! Read more about it on..._ **

He grins from ear to ear as he walks into the dining room, Cameron plating their lunch as he gets there, Wilson and House already seated.

"Guess whose make-out made it into social media!" Chase says.

Wilson's blush is adorable as he turns beet red. "Well. Um. Don't know what I expected."

"Me neither," Chase says as he sits down, starting to eat his lunch eagerly. "But we got here, so now the tabloid lovers are on a tizzy about this. Do I read the homophobic replies for fun or not?"

"Maybe not," House says. "Although it is fun. Like, jeez."

"Yeah, jeez indeed," Wilson says.

"Well," Chase says, starting to eat. "I didn't... I. Uh. Forgot what I was going to say. But yeah! I'm glad it got out there. I was worried it wouldn't."

"Oh, you know it would," House replies, taking another bite of his food afterward. "It would be rather difficult for it not to. You know, paparazzi are just always in that place, lurking, waiting for something tabloid-worthy. I mean, I don't know if they are there always, but they would definitely be there after we went on a date there."

Chase snorts. "Yeah, that's fair."

It takes for them to get out of lunch for him to think back about what Cameron said, about him dating House. Would Wilson be added to the mix, then? Would he date both of them? The idea sounds interesting. But he can hardly hold up one relationship, much less two.

He clears his throat and goes to them when they're watching TV together. It's a cute scene, one Thirteen had told him about secondhand, a little secret of theirs, cuddling when the occasion called for it.

"Hey," he starts. "I wanted to talk to you guys about something."

House looks up. He's settled comfortably against Wilson, spread over the couch, his head on Wilson's chest. Wilson is threading his fingers through House's thinning hair in a manner nothing short of tender.

"What's up?"

"I was wondering if you guys were polyamorous," he says. He regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. "I don't, I mean— I know you guys are in an open relationship, and all that, but I don't know if you're into the romantic aspect of it or not, so that's the difference."

Wilson gives him the answer, "Yeah, we're polyamorous. We haven't done much about it, though. There's only so many polyamorous rich people who like our presence enough to date us, or one of us."

Instead of answering, House looks right through him, and asks, "Why do you ask?"

He lets out an undignified squeak at that. "I— uh. Uh, I was just curious."

They both look at him and then at each other. He feels exposed right then, like they're stripping him apart, layer by layer, until he's completely bare for them to read and analyze and mock. He swallows. 

"I wouldn't mind if you wanted to date one of us," Wilson says. "Or both of us, for that matter."

House huffs. "I mean, I wouldn't, either. But we're already enough of a mess as it is. Our twink pool boy is probably trying to keep it exclusively sexual."

Chase hates how he knows his thought process down to a T. "Uh, well. I just considered it. Cameron asked if I was thinking of doing anything more serious and well, it doesn't hurt to ask."

"It most certainly doesn't," Wilson soothes, smiling at him. "Take your time, Chase."

Before they can keep staring at them, Chase leaves, his heart in his throat. He can't deny the harsh way his heart beats, the blush on his cheeks. But he just can't start dating the two older men he's employed by, especially when all three of them seem to have so many issues stacked upon one another. It's only a recipe for disaster.

He goes back to the pool, starts cleaning even though it needs no cleaning. He's too anxious to do anything else. House must know his issues, right, must've looked through his records and the stories, acclaimed rheumatologist leaving him and his mom at fifteen, him dropping out of med school. But he never asks anything. It's infuriating. He knows what House is like, he knows what he's heard about him— he doesn't understand why he won't just ask.

Is he giving some type of mocking style of privacy? He'd much prefer he asked. That'd be less anxiety-wracking than trying to figure out what he's doing all this respectful shit for.

Chase lets out a sigh, and looks over at the pool. He deserves a swim.

* * *

His questions get answered three weeks later. Life has quieted down; they have sex, threesomes from time to time, and Wilson has found a new role in a new production of Falsettos as Marvin. They'd gone home to celebrate upon the news, invited Chase in along with some other famous people. _You fit the role anyway_ , House had joked during the afterparty, _you were so incredibly repressed when you were with Bonnie._ Wilson had scoffed and elbowed him, blushing scarlet.

Something about those little interactions made Chase feel like he _could_ push himself into their little relationship. But he knows he's too messed up, too many issues in him he has refused to deal with. He has never had a long-term romantic relationship and he's trying to insert himself into polyamory with guys with over a decade on him. It's ridiculous. He's being stupid.

House comes to the pool in his swimming trunks, and even though they've been sleeping together almost every day, Chase looks away, embarrassed at how enticing the sight is for him. 

House dips into the pool and lets out a sigh of relief, leans against the edge of it, hands on it. "So," he starts, and Chase manages to look at him. "What's the deal with you dropping out of pre-med?"

Chase's mouth opens, closes, and then opens again. "Are you finally hitting me with the personal questions?"

He offers him a shrug. "It would happen eventually."

House isn't wrong.

"Well, yeah," he says. "I expected it as pillow talk or something. But uh."

"Yes?"

"Undiagnosed ADHD and the PTSD from dealing with my alcoholic mom on my own until she kicked the bucket." He looks away again, stares at the pool water, pristine. "Is that enough?"

"Of course," House says. "That's more than enough. I was just curious. Heard a lot about your family through medical news, so." House's entire family are doctors except for him, so he can imagine someone in his family emailing him articles about Rowan Chase, renowned rheumatologist, leaving his family, and the subsequent death of his wife. "Are you going to therapy?"

Chase has enough money to go to therapy. House's pay is enough to live a semi-comfortable lifestyle, even more so when being allowed to stay at their estate helps a lot with his expenses. But the thought of going to therapy is uncomfortable, like an ill-fitting suit— like someone will hear him ramble about his issues and his hatred for his father and his mixed feelings about his mother and would only respond with a blank stare and a distinct lack of empathy. Like his issues were too little for therapy, even though he knows spending ages fifteen to eighteen taking care of his mother damages the psyche in ways he didn't expect until her funeral passed and he realized he was too grown up and too small at the same time. Beyond his years and yet immature beyond belief.

"No," he says, quietly.

"I have a great therapist," House says. Chase nearly falls into the water at this admission. _House goes to therapy? House?_ "I can arrange you to meet the guy, check him out, see if his style suits you."

Chase swallows. "Uh. Sure."

House wades closer toward him. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he says. "Just... didn't expect that."

"You can ask me for anything," he says. "I'll deliver."

It's a bit romantic. Neither of them dares voice that out loud.

"Sure," Chase says, quietly, savoring the words. He likes the idea of House delivering anything he asks. It's, again, romantic. Sort of cute.

Maybe there's a future out there for them, somewhere. Maybe after he goes to therapy he'll know what to do with himself, his issues, and House and Wilson themselves.


End file.
